Pillow Talk
by ivoryantlers
Summary: "A bed," she said quietly, peering up at him through thick lashes, "is the most intimate place in the universe." The Doctor buys a bed to share, living arrangements are settled, and domestic life inside the TARDIS is explored. A series of oneshots with a mix of sweet, funny, and in-between.
1. Prologue

Title: Pillow Talk

Summary: "A bed," she said quietly, peering up at him through thick lashes "is the most intimate place in the universe." The Doctor buys a bed to share, living arrangements are settled, and domestic life inside the TARDIS is explored. A series of oneshots with a mix of sweet, funny, and in-between.

* * *

The decision had been made suddenly, and without her knowledge.

Knowing her, she would've argued, or perhaps insisted she go along and help pick out the model or sort out the little details. No, she was not particularly concerned with interior decorating, but rather focused on anything that she thought could make the Doctor's life better, happier, smoother. There were times when he wondered if she felt like her presence was a nuisance, with all the quiet gestures she would do to show she cared, or maybe was grateful. This idea irked him.

To think she should be more grateful for his companionship that he should for hers was ridiculous.

Once she joined his company and decided to discover the universe, she hardly slept. When she did, it was in room and board on some distant planet for the night, or in the most comfortable chair or bench the TARDIS had, after being up for days at a time with little room to break. To be fair, the Doctor had hardly noticed because they were enjoying the time so much, as if there were so little time to sleep when there was so much to see and do. It wasn't until he began to notice her little moments of nodding off at random points, times he didn't pinpoint because "days" and "24 hour cycles" had little meaning outside of earth.

And so on a stop to ensure the Leaning Tower of Pisa during restoration work in 2001 was properly overseen, he deftly managed the furniture district to find the perfect bed. It was a queen size with the head and footboard of polished iron and a suitable mattress, nothing too soft or too firm. After all, he did not want to seem like a try-hard in front of the girl who was as easy as Sunday brunch. It was tempting to travel the galaxy in search for something more sophisticated or alien, something that held worlds within the stitches of its sheets or could produce images of the future in ones dreams. However, he knew Rose preferred to live the simple lifestyle she grew up in, free of pretentious or ornate things.

He wanted to give her worlds and moons, but she would rather explore them, and he liked that, preferred that even. And to have a touch of something human in such a constantly ethereal environment would please her.

The bed was there when they returned for the night, in the quaint, yet spacious room adjoining the library and bathroom and without explanation of to how it got there. When he led her there and turned on the light, it sat plainly against the back wall with a clean, white duvet on top and two matching pillows, as if it had been there since the beginning of time itself.

"What's this? You're afraid of carpets and a mortgage," she inquired with a raised eyebrow "but now you've decided to establish a bedroom?"

She sat down the souvenir she had picked up for her mother on the table, the only other piece of furniture in the rarely-used room and approached the bed. Her fingers lightly touched the pure duvet, and he watched her. She had seen things she could have never imagined in her time with the Doctor, and yet this had seen a bit too out of character to be real.

She turned and looked at him imploringly. "This is your doing, yeah?"

"I supposed nights in hotels and inns and chairs in various locations around space and time weren't suitable for you anymore. You humans are quite exhaustible."

"_You're_ exhaustible," she laughed shortly. "I'm fine."

He smiled. That was very much like her, to fight him when he insisted she was anything but strong. She took a few steps toward him and crossed her arms. He crossed his in response, mimicking her.

"You've been tired," he replied.

"I've been happy. I've been with you."

He repressed an even further grin. "Sweetening me up to get me to return the bed?"

"Return it?" She seemed genuinely surprised. "You've been tired too, Doctor."

She turned from him and disappeared into the bathroom, her voice trailing out through the door. "Don't think I've noticed your little snoozes here and there at all odd moments of the day. And besides-" she peeked her head out from around the corner, her shoulder bare and suggesting she was not clothed "did you not realize you only bought one bed?"

Whether he did or not at the time of purchase, one will never know. And yet, he found himself growing a bit hot, glancing at the bed as if it were a new territory to be explored. It is one thing to have thoughts about something, and another to experience it; the great and illustrious Doctor was mildly nervous about both. What if he had made her uncomfortable, gave the wrong idea about his intentions? Sure, they had been physical before, just not…physical. Oh God, what were his intentions? What if she recuperated them? What if-

"Coming to bed?"

She had reappeared swiftly with damp hair, a minty mouth, a pair of shorts, and a plain cotton t-shirt hanging loosely over her. Her feet softly padded across the floor, over to him, and a slightly concerned expression crossed her features. She touched his arm.

"Not to worry," she said gently "there's plenty of hot water left, if that's what's got you worried."

His eyes settled on her. How long had he been standing there, unmoving? He quickly assured her that he was fine, darted into the bathroom, and reemerged less than ten minutes later with a calculated look and heavy feet. She sat on top of the covers with her legs folded under her, sending a quick text to her mother to assure her Italy was fine and no harm had come to them. When she finished, she looked up and grinned, her mouth in an upward curve so beautiful he thought that surely the round creatures of Saturn's rings would take notice and swoon of envy. She patted the bed next to her, so adorably, that his feet magically moved a bit faster. He sat down and crossed his legs, facing her.

And she put both of her hands on the side of his face, leaned in, and kissed him.

He closed his eyes for a brief moment, smiling, capturing that one, fleeting kiss forever, calculating the probable positive rate of change of his heartbeats, inhaling every particle of the scent of her lingering shampoo, rewinding that touch for all of eternity, willing to die and regenerate forever if it meant experiencing her lips just once more.

"Thank you," she breathed into his ear. "This was very nice of you."

She moved closer and found herself against his chest. An uncommon occurrence and yet it felt like home.

"Oh, it's just a bed," he insisted.

She looked up at him. "A bed," she said quietly, peering up at him through thick lashes "is the most intimate place in the universe."

"And to think," he said with such gravity of quiet importance "that I have the privilege of sharing such a place with you." The odds really were improbable that he be so lucky.

They looked quietly at one another for a moment before she moved away, to his disdain, to lie down. She laid her head on her folded arms, her body stretched out and her t-shirt falling toward the comforter. He noticed her in more appreciative detail- the curvature of her breasts rising and falling with each breath, the outline of her figure, the curl of her toes as she stretched. He so desired to hold her, feel her against him, but he was so helpless in that all he could do is lay down next to her and watch her breathe.

"What are you thinking?" she said after a while of silence. "Are you nervous?"

"I am thinking that beds are excellent investments. Why would I be nervous?"

She looked down and picked at the invisible threads on the comforter. "I don't know. I figured…you buying one bed and all. I-"She sat up and paused. "If you don't mind me asking?"

"Not at all."

"Do things" she started uneasily, slowly "down there…work the same way for you?" She met his eyes for a brief moment before looking away embarrassedly. "There's just so little I know about the Time Lords."

He looked imploringly at her. "I suppose you mean my anatomy in comparison to that of the human race's?"

Silence.

He pondered for a moment. "Well, I suppose so."

"And you've never…?"

"No," he said simply. "Time Lords do procreate in order to avoid extinction-"

"But do you love?" she said suddenly, looking at him with new eyes he hadn't seen. She then retracted quickly. "Was it something common, a part of your culture, or was there only ritual?"

That stung a little. To realize that she did not see.

"Rose," he said gently, seriously, and she looked at him. He took her hand and held it to his bi-chamber heart. "Time Lords procreate to avoid extinction, but we do also love. Deeply. Truly."

"And yet your intentions with this bed were quite platonic." She scooted closer. "Ah, the pains of being pure at heart."

He looked a bit uncomfortable. "Well, what did you expect? I don't have much...experience with that sort of business."

"It's funny. My mother always saw you as some middle-aged villain, twiddling your moustache and unfolding your plan to steal her virtuous daughter away."

"What if that is my plan?"

"Who said I was virtuous?"

She looked at him, smiling coolly, and yet there was a burning behind her look that said she was teasing him. Of course, he had…thought about her, but he tried not to, as those thoughts tended to lead to thoughts of her and Mickey, reminders of the way she had looked at him many times. Time Lords experienced emotions, but the Doctor really never had much to be jealous of until he had met Rose Tyler and her increasingly brave (ex?)-boyfriend. Jealousy- that had been something new.

He paused before continuing. "I hope you realize that I don't need any physical aspects to enjoy traveling with you. Just being able to share quarters with a companion such as yourself is more than enough."

And that, he realized, was more than true. There was no denying that he found a physical attraction to her, something unfamiliar and exciting that made him want to do and experience things they hadn't ventured into before. But to be able to ponder over the wonders of the universe with her and a cup of warm tea in the late hours of the night, or to wake up to someone who makes mornings seem like holidays brought unmatched satisfaction, something so particularly wonderful and intimate that at times it scared him. There was so much between them that was unclear, but they never felt the need to put labels on anything. He was the Doctor and she was Rose and together they could do anything.

She smiled at him, a warm one full of gratitude for his existence, and moved up against his chest once more. Instinctively, he wrapped his arm around her waist and brought her closer, moving his face close against hers before burying his nose into her neck. He inhaled deeply; no scent in the universe could compare. Her pulse, warm beneath his touch, sang to him. Her collarbone was a beautiful crater of a moon. There was nothing like this.

His fingers gently pushed the sleeve of her t-shirt down so he could plant a gentle kiss on her smooth shoulder. She froze a bit, surprised, but decided that she had rather enjoyed the unfamiliarity. She felt something different within him, something faster and bolder, yet always conscientious and careful not to offend or make her uncomfortable. A sigh escaped her lips.

He froze. Pulled away. Misinterpreted her act of exhaling.

She looked at him. Wished that he would come back.

"Big day tomorrow," he murmured, signaling for the lights to go off and sliding under the covers.

She would let him go. There were many more nights ahead such as this one, and too much time to rush anything.

"Goodnight, Doctor."

"Mmm."

They fell fast asleep.

* * *

A/N: I haven't exactly figured out where I'm going with this, although I like the premise. Please forgive me for how disjointed and just not-good this chapter is, but hopefully I'll find some footing on common ground soon.


	2. Quiet

1. Quiet

He supposed it was a bit creepy, nights like this.

There were few things the Doctor did not understand, one of which was the infatuation girls had with wanting to be watched while asleep. And yet, there was something oddly peaceful about observing the slow rise and fall of her chest, something so wonderful about such a crude respiratory system. Where she came from, humanity was just a mere blip of the universe. Somehow, and despite that, she managed to be extraordinary.

"My life was quite ordinary, boring," she had told him once, quietly, over a cup of tea, "until I met you."

Her mouth was slightly open as she snored gently, as if her body had finally managed to subdue her for the day. His body, for the moment, had overcome sleep in order to observe the simple pleasure of watching her in her slumber. There were times to watch stars explode into billions of brilliant pieces of light and color, to see civilizations teeming with unimaginable life, on the cusp of a golden age and of glory. There were times to observe the formation of galaxies, the establishment of monuments and planets and solar systems. There were times to conquer danger. There were times to watch Rose Tyler sleep.

Tonight, the Doctor had decided, was a suitable night for the lattermost time.

Her eyelids fluttered a little, and she shifted – just a miniscule amount – before growing still once more, and he smiled. Perhaps she was dreaming of all the beauty and splendor he and the TARDIS could show her. Perhaps colors nonexistent on earth danced within her dreams, or life forms thought impossible to exist appeared before her in her mind. Perhaps she was thinking of all the wonderful things he had the great honor to show her. And for that, perhaps, he hoped, she was maybe dreaming of him, too.

No, he frowned, that wasn't right. All the wonderful things they had seen together, and to think that simply his face would fill her thoughts. Well, she had considered him at one point to be handsome, hadn't she? It was then that he realized he had never voiced how pretty he thought she was. He would have to let her know when she woke up, yes. Immediately.

A hand had found his.

"Doctor?" A small voice. "You're still awake?"

He turned to her, meeting her newly opened, inquisitive eyes and blurted out "You're very pretty."

The embarrassment burned on his cheeks. Well, at least he had said it.

She smiled and slowly sat up a bit. "Well thank you, but surely that's no reason to be up."

"Please don't let me keep you."

A trace of something crossed her face- was it hurt? He could often tell it upset her when he didn't let her in, didn't share his thoughts. Perhaps his tone hadn't been soft enough. She had mistaken it for a dismissal, a plea to be alone. Her eyes lowered, the corners of her mouth turning downward by what he estimated to be a quarter of a micrometer. Well, what was he supposed to say? _I like watching you sleep. _He was the great and powerful Time Lord, the last of his kind, and would not be embarrassed. He did not have time for love and romance and expressing his feelings. There were wars to be fought and won, societies and races and worlds to be saved. Surely she understood this.

And yet, every once awhile – not often, mind you, but every once in awhile – he wished that he could give her something more stable, a place where he could leave her flowers for when she got home and volunteer to do the dishes. He would catch the spiders and check the mail if she agreed to make the bed, and they would be happy, not in the way that they are now, but in something different and wonderful all the same.

He put right hand to her cheek and gently stroked her cheekbone with his thumb. She leaned into his touch, so slightly that it would take the most observant of people to notice, and looked at him. Her eyes had traces of worry like they always did when he shut his thoughts in, and he was truly sorry.

"Sure you're alright?" she asked, and he hated himself.

He flashed her a comforting smile that probably did not provide any comfort. "Absolutely, Rose Tyler."

Wrapping his arm around her, he gently pushed her to lay down. They both fell back against the bed and she settled into him and he pulled her closer. Her hair smelled of jasmine.

"My mother, when I was a child, would give me rose-scented shampoo," she had admitted to him once. "How cliché."

This had made him think about washing her hair for her one day, something he had seen on the television once (had it been Pretty Woman, perhaps?) while paying Jackie a visit in London. It was then, after having that extremely private thought, that he realized he could not give her a conventional relationship, could not be the conventional dating partner that she deserved. He could not be a character from a romance novel, and he could not picture her as extremely effeminate, doing her hair up and sorting through outfits for a date, perhaps dinner and a picture or a walk in the park. Perhaps that was why he held his adoring looks and admiring comments and sounds close to his chest when she tucked a piece of hair behind her ear and stuck out her tongue over the top row of her teeth.

She will die one day. So he cannot give her a conventional relationship. He can only hold her for so long.

Or perhaps, he finally thought after a moment, that one kiss wouldn't hurt anyone.

He gently brushed back her hair and planted one gently on her temple. He felt one of her hands find his and their fingers intertwined effortlessly like thread. She tilted her chin upward, and by the soft light from some distant source filtering itself through the glass roof, they could properly look at each other.

"Doctor," she said gently, and it was almost too much to hear his name in such a tone of voice leave her lips.

He kissed her, hard. She let him.

Her lips parted, willing to let him speak through more than just words. He pushed himself partially on top of her, and her other hand its way through the back of his thick hair. There was so much to say. Nothing to say at all. He had given himself the pleasure of one kiss and had taken far too much. She will die one day, she will die one day.

He broke away from her, with all the effort he could possibly manage, and she sighed.

She looked up at him. "You know you can tell me anything, right?"

No, not everything. Not yet.

So the great and powerful Time Lord wanted to kiss her, hold her forever, love her. But he didn't always get what he wanted, he knew that much.

"I like watching you sleep," he said simply.

It was communication, at least. It was a start.

"You'll have forever to do that. I promise."

He smiled, no response. She was always unknowingly making promises she could not keep.

At last, they both fell asleep.


	3. Rhythm

2. Rhythm

The Doctor peeked his head around the corner and confirmed his suspicions. He thought he had heard music; his hypothesis ended up to be true. There was nothing quite like the sight before him, and he froze, daring not to disrupt what was unfolding.

_My God, _he thought, _did she have rhythm. _

He supposed this was a form of eavesdropping, as he was supposed to be out for the day to take care of some business without her but forgot his trusty sonic screwdriver on the bench in the library. It was when he returned that he heard an upbeat song drifting throughout the TARDIS. There she stood, the powerful Rose Tyler on their bed, jumping and dancing around in a manner that clearly stated she did not realize she was no longer alone.

"You know it's gonna make it that much better when we can say goodnight and _staaaay _together!" she belted out, surprisingly on-pitch.

She had stopped to outstretch her arms in a rather dramatic fashion and stretch out that part. When the chorus returned, she returned to her jumping and dancing. Her back was turned to the doorframe and she wore socks and an oversized button-down shirt the Doctor, to his pleasure, deduced to be his. As she jumped, the shirt raised up slightly to reveal plain, white cotton underwear. He could feel the heat rising to his cheeks, although it was not in his genetic makeup to blush. He should go.

She raised her hands above her head and began to sway her hips.

He should stay.

He dared to move his body further through the door frame for a better look. It was entrancing, really. The skylight in the ceiling leaked through yellow light that fractured into a million pieces and fell upon her and allowed her swinging, messy hair to glow. The song, which he did not recognize, crooned of love and the burdens of youth. Her hips were a pendulum he wished would never stop.

"Wouldn't it be nice if we could wake up in the morning when the day is new?" she sang loudly, as if to bear her soul to the seemingly empty room.

He stifled a laugh. It disappointed him a little that this wasn't blackmail material, as she was too cute to have anything to be ashamed about. She jumped on the bed, her hair flying, and he found himself with an uncontrollable smile. It must've been difficult for her to never be alone, always in his presence or within close proximity. The sheer joy and liberation within each jump and step radiated from her, and he felt his hearts singing in response. She was beautiful, graceful, and the lights reflecting off of her skin danced along with her. He didn't dare breathe for fear of interrupting. He could watch for an eternity and never tire.

She jumped, eventually turning toward the doorway to reveal closed eyes and her signature toothy grin. The happiness on her face was incomparable, and something within him made him wonder if he had ever made her this happy before, this kind of happy that one experiences in rare moments of solitude and peace. What he would give to make her this happy, even just once.

"The happy times together we've been spending," she sang freely. "I wish that every kiss was _neeeever-_ending! Oh wouldn't it be- Doctor?"

She stopped and they froze, locking eyes on each other. It was in that moment he knew he was done for. He instinctively took a few steps closer, as if to reach out and physically explain himself.

Horror and embarrassment graced her features as she assessed the situation from on top of the bed. He looked as equally mortified as he stumbled toward her, peculiar as he looked as if he was ready to bolt out of the door and never be seen again.

"Rose," he swallowed quickly, rushing for the right words. "I uh," he stammered, "returned to screw."

"_What?"_

Well shit, that wasn't right at all, was it?

He pressed his hand to his forehead, his usual sign of stress. "That is _not _what I meant. If you pardon me, I could explain-"

"How long have you been standing there?" she hissed at him, her eyes wide and her legs somewhat crossed as if to hide the fact that she had no proper bottoms on. She quickly buttoned up the top button of her shirt after realizing it had come undone.

"Only for a moment, " he said quickly, reaching out to her. "I just, I returned for my screwdriver and heard the music, and then I saw you and I…"

Her cheeks flushed. "I was just um, flipping through the radio stations and out of all the ones the TARDIS picked up, I found one in English. I uh, love the Beach Boys," she said sheepishly. "I hadn't heard human music in forever. Wouldn't It Be Nice is one of my favorites…"

He looked at her, surprised. She was actually trying to justify herself. He had eavesdropped on her privacy and as a result, she was now uncomfortable and unsure of her actions. The worry in her eyes said she was unsure if her story would be accepted easily. She was afraid of being judged. This made him feel like the worst scum of the universe.

He walked in front of her, toward the edge of the bed, and reached up to take her hand. She instantly sat, pulled into his unexplainable sort of pull of gravity, and looked up at him helplessly.

"Rose Tyler," he stated seriously, "you have wonderful rhythm."

They froze, staring at each other. And then, laughter. She tilted her head back a little to let the peals of giggles erupt from within her and he joined in, never letting go of her hand. The uncomfortable air had been cleared and replaced with their usual comfort and joy, despite his intrusion and despite her barely-dressed body. He pretended like he didn't notice, keeping his eyes on her face, but for all he knew, her thighs were the closet to Narnia. He'd happily get lost in between them any day of the week. That incredibly crude thought surprised him so much that he found himself laughing a bit harder.

"I should probably turn it down," she said apologetically as her laughter died down, looking for the remote.

She let go of his hand but he caught it again. "Nonsense. You have great taste. Don't let me interrupt you."

"Oh yes, as if I'll be doing that again," she scoffed.

He sighed. He'd never forgive himself if he because the reason why she no longer danced like nobody was watching.

She stood from the bed and turned her back to continue looking for the remote, but then paused and glanced over her shoulder. There was a mixture of curiosity and a smile as she looked at him.

"Unless, Doctor," she said, sucking on his name like a piece of hard candy, "you'd like to join me?"

He felt himself grow hot and she climbed back onto the bed and stood, seemingly forgetting that she hadn't put on pants. She outstretched her hand, smiling, and looked at him expectantly.

"Well?"

As if he could say no.

He took her hand and joined her in standing on the bed, underneath the shattered light of a nearby moon. Her face seemed to glow and her smile spread. She was too much, like this, for the Doctor. His resolve had vanished. Attempting to uphold the full extent of his manners became increasingly difficult. As the song drifted to a close, a new one, something slower and also in English began. He wrapped his right arm around her and pulled her so close that her pelvis was the first thing to brush against him. She exhaled sharply, slightly surprised at his new-found assertiveness. The rest of her body eventually found him, and her chest gently pressed against his, their faces inches apart.

He took his left hand and held her right, gave her a cool smile, and they began to dance.

"Usually I have to sacrifice small animals to convince you to dance with me," she said breathily, following his lead.

He smirked. "Usually you're wearing pants."

She laughed shortly, surprised and slightly embarrassed upon remembering her current state. Her hair must've been a mess. As if he had read her mind, he quickly brushed a blonde strand out of her face with his hand before returning it to her lower back.

"Don't get cheeky with me," she warned, failing to hold back her smile. She buried her face in his neck and he breathed in the scent of her hair. Today it was lavender.

He would have to remember to forget his personal items more often.

* * *

A/N: I think I have some grasp on this story now. Your feedback is greatly appreciated. Please consider reviewing! As always, thank you for reading this shit.


	4. Chores

3. Chores

He raises an eyebrow at her in serious doubt. "Can't we just…buy another bed?"

"Honestly, Doctor," she says, folding back the comforter with slight annoyance, "for someone who has saved entire _planets, _you really are quite lazy."

He walks to the foot of the bed and pulls off the comforter begrudgingly. The fate of entire galaxies, pockets of the universe teeming with civilizations upon civilizations, seemed to always boil down to his impeccable timing and narrow, daring escapes. To those who had just barely invented the wheel, he was a god. To Rose Tyler, he was the help. Honestly, he had expected some kind of exemption from…chores and the likes. Domestic life had never been his forte, and laundry day would've been nonexistent if it hadn't been for her insistence.

He would've never bought a bed if she wouldn't be in it.

"This is how it starts for people," he insists, wadding up the top sheet and tossing it onto the floor. "First, a bed, then a matching furniture set. Then carpets…doors." He grimaces.

She gives him a quizzical look. "No, I…don't think that's how anything starts for anyone, actually."

"You won't be saying that a hundred years from now," he frowns at her, peeling off the bottom sheet, "when we've got a mortgage."

Her heart flutters for a brief moment. "We?"

He opens his mouth to explain his blunder. Realizing there is no justification for the accidental slip, he promptly shuts his mouth and gives her a defiant look. She turns away from him to gather the linens and hide her grin.

"_We could both, I don't know…share,"_ she had told him once during a discussion on mortgages, with her chin resting in her palm and her bottom lip adorably captured between her teeth, and it had changed everything.

They could stay in one place indeed, filling their life with work and food and sleep. That thought did not bother him the way it used to. If it meant continuing to share living quarters with her, waking up every morning to her bed head and peculiarly cranky, yet cheerful, demeanor, then he would do it. Maybe not for the rest of her life. Maybe only for a couple years, in fact. But he would do it, and he would relish those mornings above any other he has spent alone.

She returns from placing the laundry in the washer (an atypical contraption he had found on a distant planet that required the both of them to learn how to use it) and hopped onto the bed, rolling over onto her stomach. From his angle, he notes that her body has an ass that a ruler couldn't measure; the strange crudeness in this thought causes him to blush and turn away immediately.

She glances over her shoulder. "Doctor? You alright?"

"Absolutely."

He approaches the opposite side of the bare mattress (his side, as he had quickly coined it) carefully, as if she had once again gained clairvoyance into his thoughts (her gift, as he had once noted it). His body relaxes, however, once it reaches her familiar proximity. He lay next to her, observing the corners of her mouth curve upward slightly and her eyes close. Her head rests on her folded arms, and he suddenly feels the necessity to touch them. His fingertips lightly touch the skin there, slightly tanned after meeting the radiation of various suns, incredibly soft as rose petals (how cliché, and he mentally kicks himself for the metaphor).

All she can provide is a gentle "Mmmm." Goosebumps form.

"Cold?"

She nods, keeping her eyes closed as if her lie might leak through her pupils and reveal itself. He reaches over to the side of the bed and retrieves a blanket that had been slightly kicked under perhaps a few days ago. Adjusting it to cover the both of them, they instinctively move closer.

"Laundry should be done in about fourty."

He nods, despite her eyes being closed. He closes his own.

"Doctor?"

He opens them, in the way his body strangely reacts whenever his name passes through her lips, and her eyes are peering at him curiously. She looks down a moment, as if she is searching for a bit of courage. A small twinge of worry passes through him as he wonders when the day will come when she will be comfortable enough to speak freely to him.

"May I ask you something?"

As if she had to ask. That bothered him. But just a bit.

"Of course."

"Does settling down," she says carefully, looking up at him, "why does that bother you so much?"

He adjusts the blanket to further cover her. "It doesn't."

"Well, it bothers you," she persists, attempting to make eye contact.

"It did. At a time when I was alone, full of vengeance and solitude due to the extinction of my people."

He fumbles with the edge of the blanket as if to avoid her; she takes his hand, stilling him.

"I will die one day."

"Don't." He finally looks at her, and his eyes are hard, cold pieces of rounded steel.

He would share a home with her one day, yes. Maybe not for the rest of her life. Maybe only for a couple years, in fact. But he would do it, and he would relish those mornings above any other he has spent alone. And what will happen to him, the morning he wakes up alone? What then? It was like she was forcing him to count down the days, twisting his arm to make him scream and realize that if anything ever happened between them, (he dared to think it) if she ever loved him, he could not marry her. The universe often felt ethereal, magical to him, but there was no Fountain of Youth or potion for eternal life.

She will die and there is nothing he can do about it. The thought turns over and over in his head, like a smooth stone in his hand he was unsure of what to do with.

She laughs lightly, but still reverberates with a bit too much force. "Easier said than done."

Of course, modern medicine would develop rapidly on Earth after the 23rd century, and people would begin modification processes to live longer. However, as external changes occur, internal ones within the human population begin to change the way the body responds to innovation. Ironically, there is no guarantee 21st century Rose Tyler would be compatible with the future, unless she wanted to follow the path of Cassandra or other extreme "versions" of mankind that would result from opportunities for genetic and physical modification. And assuming she would stay in good health for the majority of her life, there is still no cure for old age.

"Don't," he says quietly to her.

He wraps an arm around her waist and pulls her toward him. Her blonde hair rests under his nose – he notices she has changed shampoo, something with safflower – and he presses a kiss to the top of her head. The sudden display of emotion surprises her, and she moves in closer to bury her face in his neck. He tightens his hold.

"Rose Tyler, I'd share a mortgage with you any day."

She smiles and plants a kiss on his collarbone.

"And help with the laundry? And make the bed?"

"Absolutely."

It is then when he realizes domestic chores aren't so bad after all.

* * *

A/N: Sorry I took forever to update! Sorry this was supposed to come out lighthearted and perhaps a bit funny but I'm terrible at both of those things. Despite all this, your feedback is wonderfully appreciated. Thank you so much to all of you who reviewed, favorited, and subscribed. It means the world to me.


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